


Cookies are the Way to a Man's Heart (Charles', at least)

by pacole



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, And Then Mocking Them, Attempt at Humor, Charles-centric, Co-workers, Cookies, Erik is a Sweetheart, Indulging in All the Cliches, M/M, Slightly Satirical, anonymous gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacole/pseuds/pacole
Summary: Someone's leaving Charles cookies on his desk every day.(The plot's pretty easy to guess, isn't it?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine.

There’s a cookie on his desk.

Charles stares at it in disbelief.

He’d slept through his alarm because he’d stayed up till four in the morning - he blames Raven, don’t ask – and as a result had skipped breakfast in his hurry to make it to work on time. He had just been lamenting to his empty stomach (yes, _to_ his stomach), when lo and behold, a cookie had appeared miraculously on his desk.

Well, maybe not _miraculously_ , since _obviously_ someone had to put it there. Someone who is not identified, by the way, since Charles can’t see anything, not even a card. But his point stands – who puts a cookie (on a paper plate, thankfully, which renews Charles’ hope regarding the hygiene standard of people nowadays) on another person’s desk?

Charles sinks down on his chair and picks up the cookie. It looks like a chocolate chip cookie, which isn’t his favourite, but he’s too tired and hungry to care. He sniffs it suspiciously, still not believing his good fortune, and the utterly _heavenly_ aroma wafts into his nostrils.

He takes a small, experimental nibble.

It’s abso-fucking-lutely _delicious_.

The cookie’s gone in two seconds flat. Charles thinks he just set a new fastest cookie eaten record.

He spends the rest of the day working while absently picking at the crumbs on the plate.

Today is the _best day ever_.

* * *

He takes that sentiment back the next day, when he comes to work only to find another cookie sitting innocently at his desk.

It’s an oatmeal raisin cookie, which happens to be his favourite, and when Charles takes a bite out of it without hesitation, it’s _perfect_.

Fuck yesterday, _today_ is the best day ever.

* * *

“Hello, brother of mine!” Raven chimes cheerfully. “How’ve you been?”

“Great!” Charles replies, sitting down opposite her and ordering an Earl Grey from a waitress passing by.

When she leaves, Raven examines him with a critical eye. “What’s got you in such a cheery mood? Did you get laid? Oh my God!” She leans forward conspiringly, lowering her voice. “Did Erik ask you out?”

“No!” Charles yelps in an embarrassingly loud and shrill tone, feeling himself blush furiously. “I _told_ you, Erik _does not_ like me! He’s my colleague, for God’s sake!”

“But you have a crush on him the size of Jupiter. And there’s nothing in company policy that prevents relationships between co-workers, are there?” Raven replies smugly.

“There might not be, but it _is_ heavily frowned upon. And I don’t have a crush on him, stop reading so many trashy romance novels. Now can you please shut up so we can talk about other stuff?”

“You still haven’t told me why you were chirping like a bird when you walked in.”  
  
“Oh right. So you see, someone’s been leaving the most delicious cookies on my desk every morning. Life has never been better.”

Raven raises an eyebrow. “And you don’t know who puts it there?”  
  
“Nope,” Charles says, his good mood from before returning. “I’ve asked around, but apparently whoever leaves the cookies comes either too early or is too inconspicuous, or quite possibly a mixture of both. Not that I particularly care who leaves them, as long as the cookies keep coming.”

“And this has been going on for how long?”

“Since last Wednesday.”

Raven eyes his middle. “Yes,” she says, face splitting into a wide grin, “It shows.”  
  
“Raven!”

“Okay, okay. Teasing aside, though, do you really not care who leaves them?”

“Well, a bit, but not all that much.”  
  
“Come on, where’s your natural curiosity?"

“School beat it out of me.” Charles replies dryly.

Raven hums in thought. “Maybe it’s Erik.”

“I thought you said you were going to put teasing aside!”

“It’s a distinct possibility, you know. He _did_ call you cute once.”

“He was drunk, Raven, and anyway, that was over a year ago. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“However many times you want.” Raven takes a sip of her coffee. “You seem amazingly cool about this.”  
  
“Well yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Charles asks, distracted.

“You have a secret admirer! It’s like someone leaving you flowers everyday! Except, you know, it’s cookies, which is way better if you ask me, but that’s not the point. The point is that someone likes you so much that they’re leaving cookies on your desk every damn day! Good Lord, my stuffy, boring, nerdy _brother_ has a secret admirer.” She gesticulates wildly in exasperation.

Charles eyes her coffee cup wearily, where it is dangerously close to being knocked over by Raven’s flailing hands.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Charles hums. “I don’t think it’s Erik. The cookies seem homemade and he doesn’t seem like the baking type.”  
  
Raven stares at him. “Have you been thinking about him all this time?”

Charles feels himself turn pink. “Erm.”

A sly grin spreads on Raven’s face. “You should ask him out. Even if he isn’t your secret admirer, which I totally think he is. You like him, and he seems fond of you."

Charles feels his face burn even more, if that’s even possible. “He does _not.”_

“Doesn’t he? You said that you’re the only one allowed to call him Erik instead of Lehnsherr, and that he treats you better than anyone else. Eats lunch with you often, isn’t as short with you. I say go for it.”

“Shut up, Raven,” Charles huffs, rubbing his temples. Then his face lights up and he smirks, changing the subject, “Enough about my love life. Tell me about yours. Now what was that I heard about you cosying up with that hot Russian guy you were telling me about last week? Do I need to track him down and give the big brother speech?”

“ _Charles!_ Stop listening to Angel, there’s nothing between me and Azazel!” Now, Charles notes, it’s Raven’s turn to blush furiously.

“Turnabout is fair play, sister dear.” 

* * *

  
No matter how much Charles tries not to let Raven’s words bother him, when Charles returns to work on Monday, he can’t help but picture Erik as the one leaving him cookies, and as a potential boyfriend; when Erik greets him with a charming smile when they meet getting coffee from the break room, he pictures Erik wearing a _Kiss the Cook_ apron and the same smile while baking him cookies; when Erik goes to his desk to hand him a file, he pictures him coming in extra early (which he actually does, so no imagination needed there) when the office is empty and leaving not a file, but rather a cookie on Charles’ desk; when Erik sits with him during lunch on a rare day (getting less and less rare, actually) where he didn’t eat alone, Charles pictures instead their lunch in a romantic setting, as a date.

And things don’t end when Erik isn’t there: more often than not, Charles is fantasising about Erik and forgets to do his work.

He’s so distracted, in fact, that by Wednesday Erik asks him about it during lunch.

“Charles,” Erik says with a concerned frown, “Are you alright? You seem distracted lately, and just now you were staring into space. I even had to remind you of lunch, and usually you’re the one jumping like a bunny on drugs at my desk.” Erik puts down his fork and stares concernedly into his eyes (Charles swoons at their beautiful blue-grey-green colour), adding, “This isn’t you, Charles. What’s going on? Did something happen?”

_Yes, something happened,_ Charles thought, _you did._

And dear God if that wasn’t the cheesiest sentence he’d ever constructed, even in his head.

_See, Erik_ , _these are the things you do to me_ , Charles thought, and even his mind-voice-thing reeked of long-suffering despair.

“I’m fine,” Charles says dismissively, waving away Erik’s concern, when all he really wants to say is _“Well someone’s been giving me cookies and my sister thinks that it’s you and I think that you’re hot and will you go out with me on a date? Please? Pretty please?”_

He can already _see_ his own puppy dog eyes if he’d actually said that.

“If you say so,” Erik replies, though he looks doubtful.

The rest of their lunch has a tense air and their conversation is stilted. (Naturally).

Not that Charles really notices, since he’s busy trying (and failing) not to stare at the exposed skin of Erik’s throat from where the top button had been undone. He’s also trying (and failing) not to imagine himself undoing the rest of the buttons. (Naturally.)

The next day Charles comes to work to find two cookies sitting innocently on his desk.

* * *

Charles now has a sneaking suspicion that Raven is right (which is not something he’ll ever admit to her, forever and ever, amen). Perhaps it _is_ Erik giving him cookies.

For starters, Erik comes to work at an ungodly early hour, which means that he can probably leave the cookies without anyone noticing, because no one’s there. And, the very next day after he confronts Charles about his distractedness, Charles gets two cookies. Charles is sure that he’s on to something here. He’ll just have to prove his theory.

But first, he wants to run another test.

He buys an oatmeal raisin cookie during lunch, and while eating it, comments in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner, “You know, I love oatmeal raisin cookies.”

Erik hums in acknowledgement.

The next day Charles is pleased to discover two oatmeal raisin cookies on his desk.

_Test: Positive_

(Never in a million years will Charles admit that this test is essentially useless and he could have skipped right on to the next one, and that he only ran it so that he could get more delicious oatmeal raisin cookies and to indulge his inner scientist.)

* * *

The following Monday Charles sets seven alarms, each a minute after the other, digs up _two_ old-fashioned alarm clock and sets them too for good measure, just so he can ensure that he gets up an hour and a half earlier than usual.

He wakes up in a cacophony of noise, which is no less than he had expected, but annoying nonetheless. He makes a hazy mental note to be extra nice to his neighbours to deter noise complaints.

He goes through his morning routine sleepier than usual, but is still able to get to work early enough to be the first one there.

_Perfect_ , he thinks.

He waits barely five minutes before the door opens, and he turns to see –

_Erik, walking in and holding a paper plate with two cookies on them_.

_Hypothesis proven true_ , Charles thinks dazedly.

Erik is whistling (oh the blackmail material), and doesn’t seem to notice that Charles is there, which isn’t that surprising, since Charles is short enough that the dividers around his cubicle hide him fairly well from prying eyes, especially if he’s slouching (which he is).

He can hear Erik’s footsteps get louder and louder before the whistling suddenly stops.

“ _Charles?!_ What are you doing here?” Erik’s face is the picture of incredulity – wide eyes, raised eyebrows, jaw on the floor, etc. It’s so perfect that writers everywhere are probably describing _him_ when describing incredulity.

“It _is_ you.” Charles can’t help but blurt out, because as much as he had hoped that it really was Erik, he hadn’t really thought that it would be him, not really. “You’ve been leaving me cookies.”

“Er… yes?”

“Why?”

“Um…”

"Is it because you like me?”

“Yes.” It’s uttered so soft that Charles barely hears it, and when he does, he almost doesn’t believe his ears if not for Erik blushing and looking pointedly at his shoes.

“ _Yes?_ ”

Now Erik looks up. His voice is clipped and short. “Yes, I like you, alright? Now if you hate me, or feel disgusted, or whatever, fine, I’ll leave you alone if you want me to. Just stop tormenting me.”

Charles gasps. “Erik, no, I’m not disgusted, I didn’t mean it that way - "

“Then how did you intend to mean it?” Erik sounds furious and annoyed, the plate of cookies in his hand long forgotten.

Charles puts a hand on Erik’s arm and asks, “Erik, will you go out on a date with me?” 

“ _What?!_ ”

Charles smiles, and repeats, “Will you go out on a date with me?”

Erik beams. “Yes,” he says, returning Charles’ smile with his own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no experience working in an office setting, so I hope that this isn't too unrealistic or clogged with inaccuracies.


End file.
